Run
by Liobhan
Summary: ONESHOT. Highschool AU: This boy, with his mop of curly black hair, angular face and piercing grey eyes, was probably the most brilliant person John had ever known. He was also probably one of the nastiest. (I wrote this for a class in school but just switched the names around! Pre- slash. Please R & R!)


"Hey Watson, you up for a round of footie?" Sebastian called as he followed the rest of their friends out onto the field.

It was around lunchtime on a beautiful spring day- a perfect day for a match.

Unfortunately, John Watson wished he was home. Not just home though, safely tucked away in his bedroom where no one could reach him. Especially not Harry, his older sister, who was prone to violent, drunken rages.

It was all very confusing, to have someone profess to love you only to turn around and hurt you. He knows that it wasn't really her, that it was the drink, but he couldn't help but hate her sometimes.

His scar tingled unpleasantly under his baby blue cotton t-shirt.

John got to his friends just as Mike, the group's ringleader, started calling out teams.

"Alright; Patrick, Cathal and Anderson, you're with Ben. Seb, John and Martin are with me." John huffed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn't be Mike's personal tackling dummy today… he hoped.

Mike chucked the ball onto the centre of the pitch and the game began. There was a rigorous amount of passing and long kicks for the first little bit, and already John was sweating like a pig.

He whirled around just in time to see Mike charging toward the ball, a murderous expression on his face. He let out a loud grunt as he nailed the ball with his foot, sending it soaring through the air- and onto the opposite side of the grounds. The other boys groaned aloud.

"I'll get it!" John offered quickly, already taking off after the ball. When he finally got to the treeline, he slowed down to a walk and started picking through the bushes.

"Is this what you're looking for?" John shouted in alarm, spinning toward the voice with a hand grabbing at his chest.

The boy before him had the ball tucked under one arm and held it out to him wordlessly.

"Oh- it's you." John mentally kicked himself. No one really knew what Sherlock Holmes got up to during break.

And no one really wanted to. Sherlock cocked his head to the side, studying him.

"It appears so," he remarked dryly. "The staggering amount of intelligence you displayed just now astounds me- you must be so proud of yourself."

John bristled angrily.

This boy, with his mop of curly black hair, angular face and piercing grey eyes, was probably the most brilliant person John had ever known.

He was also probably one of the nastiest.

Sherlock was definitely a lone wolf, but it was almost completely his own doing. He spoke out of turn frequently, often correcting the teacher, and had the most enormous ego to boot. Any kid who was brave enough to approach him, if not already perturbed by his odd looks, was immediately introduced to his sharp wit and even sharper tongue.

John remembered the one time he reduced Molly Hooper to tears in less than 45 seconds.

John also remembered a time when everyone was with their respective cliques at break, and just for a second, Sherlock dropped his guard. He looked so lost, so lonely- so _young. _But the moment passed quickly and the indifferent mask had returned.

John had no idea what to make of him, so he treated him like everyone else did- with a tentative sort of caution.

"Look, you don't need to be a jerk about it. I… didn't expect anyone to be back here, is all."

Sherlock didn't look away; John tried hard not to fidget.

"I don't know why you choose to spend your time with them," he said, absentmindedly studying the ball in his hands. "They behave like animals- just look at them."

John did, and saw a dog pile currently forming on a protesting Anderson, the lot of them screaming, laughing and yelling uproariously.

"They're my friends," he said defensively, ignoring the churning in his gut.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I can see that. The way that big one always pushes you around and makes you look like a fool is absolutely inspiring."

"Shut up!" John snapped and felt his face heat. "You don't know anything."

"Evidently," the other boy drawled, mouth quirking up slightly. He tried not to flinch when he met Sherlock's eyes, green now under the canopy of leaves. John felt exposed under that glare, almost as if he was being x-rayed.

"JOHN!" He started as Seb's voice shattered the silence. Sherlock tossed the ball at his feet without a word.

"Coming!" John shouted back, snatching the ball up and making for the field. Something makes him stop abruptly, and he turned to face the strange boy again.

"Hey listen, do you want to, um, I don't know, play with us sometime?" He knew it was a stupid question, but it just slipped out.

"Goodbye John." Sherlock gave a weak imitation of a smile before walking deeper into the forest.

John got back to the game; his usual anxiety has somewhat ebbed as a result of the strange encounter with Sherlock. Mike and the others still taunted him and made him feel worthless, but it didn't bother him as much.

The rest of the school day passed with minimal excitement. Sherlock was quiet for once in class, though that didn't t stop the verbal abuse that was launched his way.

John got home later feeling like he hadn't slept in days. He turned on the T.V. to pass the time, and stumbled upon the National Geographic channel. He stared in wonder at the herds of wild horses galloping across the screen. They were so powerful and strong, being pushed to their limits every day of their lives, and didn't seem at all close to breaking under the strain. A vicious burst of envy stabbed him in his gut. John wondered how they did it. Could he?

He pushed down the sick feeling that accompanied that thought and went upstairs to do his homework. He didn't hear his mom come home, so he's startled when she calls him down to dinner. It was the same old routine- she attempted to make small talk and John responded with elusive, one word answers until she finally gave up.

Later, he stood in the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror as the steam from the shower started fogging up his reflection. There was really nothing all that interesting about his appearance; dark blue eyes, short sandy blonde hair and a slightly large nose all set in a rounded face. He peeled off his shirt to reveal the large, jagged scar across his left shoulder. Laying eyes on it brought out the anxiety and shame that John was now very well acquainted with. He could remember the smell of his flesh burning when his sister had held the glowing fire poker to him as he screamed and screamed and screamed.

The next morning, John woke up rather late but managed to arrive at school right on time. The first two periods were torture but passed by quickly. Before he knew it, break had rolled around. He took as much time as he could putting his things away before going outside to meet his friends. When he found them, he felt his heart plummet into his stomach. They were surrounding someone, not allowing them to get through, and John could practically feel the hostility rolling off of them. Then he caught sight of a familiar tuft of black hair that was raised from the centre of the group.

He increased his pace towards them, starting to hear snippets of conversation.

"-digging yourself into a deeper hole, mate," he heard Mike sneer.

"You know, I think you should all find a _real _hobby. Obviously football is not nearly as stimulating as you claim it to be, or else you wouldn't be bothered to engage yourselves in these other useless activities- such as attempting to harass your betters." John fought hard to try to keep the smile off his face.

"_Betters?" _Mike spat at Sherlock's feet. "You have some nerve, you fucking freak. I think it's about time we teach you a lesson or two."

"Oh by all means, be my guest." Mike grabbed him roughly by his collar and shoved him onto one of the other boys, laughing and jeering.

John's hands balled up into fists at his sides.

He wished, and not for the first time, that Sherlock would just keep his mouth shut. Sometimes intelligence was only useful if it could get you out of trouble, not into it.

Sherlock was a smart kid. He may not have been the kindest, but even he didn't deserve this. The familiar feeling of guilt churned inside him as he watched his friends jostle Sherlock around like a rag doll, hurling verbal abuse at him all the while. His pale, slanted eyes glared hatefully at his attackers, and then flicked towards John. Sherlock bared his teeth in a twisted, sardonic smile. He didn't say anything, but he really didn't need to. John got the message loud and clear.

_Coward._

He felt his face heat up with shame, running chaotically through him like the wild horses on T.V. But unlike him, the horses had known what to do. Stretching and collecting their long legs over and over again- rhythmic like the ticking of a watch. They moved together as a unit, the force of their hooves making the earth tremble. Trampling down their enemies without fear, tossing their cares to the wind, danger be damned. They did not cower, they did not hide, they did not retreat. They charged forward; they _ran._

Then by God, John would run.

"Stop it." His voice came out croaky- he doesn't recognize himself.

Mike froze mid-shove, and turned around to face John with a disbelieving yet predatory look in his eyes.

He'd been waiting for this- the opportunity to turn on him.

It seemed like everything was happening in slow motion now. The other boys turned as well, looking surprised and eyeing the exchange with John and their leader with eager expressions.

He wondered how long they've wanted this for. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead, apprehension coiling in his stomach. It felt like he was in a bubble- only muffled sounds seemed to get passed his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

Now Sherlock was watching him too, pale eyes narrowed, face clear of all emotion. John wondered what he was thinking.

Suddenly, reality came crashing down on him. He looked between all the boys as they stared at him like they were hyenas and he was a fresh zebra carcass. Nausea rolled through him.

_Oh God oh God oh God what have I done I'm so dead now-_

"What's that?" Mike asked him, an evil smirk twisting at his face.

John swallowed, his sister's last drunken rage flashing before his eyes. He supressed a shiver and steeled himself.

_Run, Watson. Damn you, __**run.**_

"I said stop it. You've had your fun, now leave him alone."

A few of the other boys giggled maliciously- even Seb. John's heart sunk into his stomach. He thought Seb would at least back him up a little bit.

"Oooh, look at him boys. Isn't that sweet, trying to protect his little boyfriend." Mike barked out an ugly laugh and his gang followed suit.

_I hate them, _John realized as his body started to shake. _I've never hated anyone more in my life. _All at once he felt something shift inside of him as his fear gave way to white hot rage.

"You know Mike, the sad thing is that I used to respect you. All of you. I thought you were pretty good guys and I always wanted to be a part of your group. You let me in but I never felt I was truly one of you." He was breathing hard now and everyone was staring. He kept going.

"Now that I see you for what you are, I'm glad of it, and it makes me feel physically ill to think I ever wanted to be your friend. You're picking on this helpless kid just because he's a bit different than us and he has no one to back him up. I think that's pretty damn pathetic."

"I'm not helpless," came a growl from the centre of the group.

"Shut up Sherlock," John said without skipping a beat. "You think you're so tough throwing your weight around but to me, it shows the exact opposite. Only a coward would take out his personal problems on another innocent person because he isn't strong enough to deal with it." John scoffed.

"And you thought I was the weak one."

Seb and Cathal turned to each other with wide eyes. Mike looked exactly how John felt; his jaw was clenched and his eyebrows furrowed in anger. He advanced on John, intent more evident with every step. John valiantly stood his ground, welding his anger like a shield.

Suddenly his former friend was looming over him, glaring down at John like he was an ant under his shoe.

"That's real brave talk you got going there," Mike growled. "You might want to watch what's coming out of your mouth my friend." He poked John hard in the chest, forcing him backwards a few steps.

"Don't touch me," John snapped, viciously shoving the offending hand away.

Mike's face twisted into an ugly sneer. "Or what? What are you going to do about it?" Another shove. This time Mike got right into his space, trying to intimidate him.

He channeled his father then- could see his face right before he left for the military. Stern, cool, valiant and impenetrable- hard as a rock and fierce like a lion.

John drew himself up to his full height, looking straight into Mike's eyes, feeling the power oozing out of himself- from within- clearing his head and his heart for the very first time. It was _intoxicating. _

"I am going to make you suffer." His voice was as steady as a Stradivarius, offering no room for doubt.

He knew the instant Mike realizes this; his eyes widen and he took a fraction of a step back.

"You know I could beat the shit out of you, don't you?" he threatened anyway.

"I will fight back; you know I will. And not just today, but the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that until you realize that I won't tolerate this form you, or anyone else. It is childish and undignified; you should all be ashamed of yourselves." He was pleased to see at least some of the boys looked chastened.

But not Mike. He kept on staring beadily at him, face carefully blank.

Eventually he turned away, flicking a hand dismissively over his shoulder. "Fine, if he means that much to you." Anderson gave Sherlock one last spiteful shove towards John, his laugh sounding like the snorting of a pig.

Sherlock practically snarled at him, reminding John of his Aunt Iris' old cat, before rubbing absentmindedly at his jacket as if to remove all traces of the other boys.

"You better watch your back Watson!" Mike called from over his shoulder as he and his gang sauntered away. John always thought that is he ever got separated from their group, he would feel too anxious and terrified to function ever again. Now, all he felt was relief.

He turned to the strange, strange boy next to him and felt the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile. "Well, it looks like it's just you and me now."

"Excuse me?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I just dumped my only friends and frankly, you don't have anyone either so-"

"No."

Frankly, John wasn't surprised. "…No?"

"I don't remember ever insinuating that I wanted a friend." Sherlock's face was expressionless except for the curiosity mixed with disdain in the ice grey of his eyes.

"Really? Well I do." John was positively beaming now at the floored expression that took over Sherlock's features. All of sudden, the cool composure had returned. "Please, do tell."

"Yesterday. You tried persuading me to leave my friends, as if there were someone better I could be spending my time with."

His eyes narrowed, a reluctant smile starting to tug at the corner of his mouth. "Hmm. It seems you aren't as unobservant as I'd previously thought."

"Hey!" John exclaimed indignantly. "You know, maybe if you weren't such a pretentious twit, those kids would've left you alone and I wouldn't have had to risk my neck to save your head from getting bashed in."

"They would've done no such thing," Sherlock sniffed. "I'm an expert in my own personally designed brand of martial arts, you know."

John let out an exasperated sigh. "Of course you are." He paused; blonde eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Wait, then why did you just let them push you around like that when you could've fought back?"

He was graced with a wry smile.

"No. _Tell me _you didn't."

"I wanted to see what you would do." Sherlock shrugged. "I knew you were better than those brutes- I just wanted you to figure that out for yourself."

John just blinked at him, unsure of what to say.

"Thank you," he finally managed in a hoarse voice.

He was rewarded as Sherlock's grin widens into the first real smile John has ever seen on him.

"That's what friends are for." The arrogant git spun dramatically and stalked off in the other direction, clearly expecting John to follow.

And follow John did. For a very, very long time.

_Fin._


End file.
